The Cure
by Sastrei
Summary: Ser Jorah Mormont will do anything for his Queen. Slight AU, where Shireen Baratheon was never burned alive and is still living at the end of Season 6. Jorah seeks her out to find a way to cure himself and return to Daenerys' side - where he belongs. Will have weekly updates! :)
1. Prologue

Prologue

* * *

 _And you saw me low, alone again  
_ _Didn't they say that only love will win in the end?_

* * *

Ser Jorah Mormont was too old for this shit.

The desert sun beating down on the dry, dusty lands just outside of Vaes Dothrak was surely bleaching his already pale-blonde hair. And though Jorah would never admit it, this made him look _even more_ bald than he already appeared. He absently smoothed one hand along the side of his head. The other loosely held the leather reins of his horse - a proud, golden-brown Dothraki stallion that he had yet to come up with a clever name for.

Jorah _felt_ like shit, too - though one wouldn't know it from the determined furrow of his brow and the lopsided, smug smirk that curled one half of his mouth. He had a thousand reasons to frown right now - not the least of which was the crawling, probably-fatal disease lingering on the underside of his left forearm. One thing the legends never said about Greyscale was that it itched like all hell; he reminded himself for the umpteenth time to leave it alone.

But despite male-pattern baldness and the creeping shadow of death - Jorah was smiling.

 _I command you to cure yourself and return to me._

His Queen knew him well. Jorah was crafty, knowledgeable, and stubborn to a fault. Seriously - he had been formally exiled not once, but _twice_. Yet he'd gone through oceans, rivers, mountains, deserts, and dozens of lesser (probably younger) men just for the chance to lay eyes on her once more.

And it had worked.

He was fully ready to leave and never see her again to protect her. His own body was now a weapon that could be turned against her at any moment; Greyscale's madness came at unpredictable intervals, and Jorah would rather slit his own throat than risk any harm he might unwillingly inflict on his Queen. Come to think of it, if she'd ordered him to do just that - he would've brandished his dagger and spilled his blood at her feet, no questions asked.

But no. She commanded him to live. Because when her reign began - when she took her rightful place on the throne of the Seven Kingdoms - Daenerys Targaryen would need Ser Jorah Mormont at her side.

He swelled with pride all over again. His horse had slowed a little, as if sensing his distracted thoughts and taking advantage of his lack of focus. Jorah urged it onward with a generic _hyah._ He really would need to pick out a name soon. The beast's long, powerful legs ate up the dusty earth; the dry wind whipped its charcoal-black mane, and Jorah rose up high, standing on his stirrups, smiling into the sun.

He had a long way to go, and a lot to do. But for his Queen - Jorah wouldn't fail.

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A/N: This is just the prologue. The actual chapters will be between 2-5000 words each. Join me in Jorah's epic quest! :) Thanks for reading!


	2. Saved

Chapter Two

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 _This ride is a journey to the secret inside of you  
This race is a prophecy;  
Run! And disappear in the trees_

* * *

Ser Davos had always told her that she had a good heart.

Now, Shireen was a bit too young to truly understand what this meant; she hadn't seen the vast, endless evils of the world like Ser Davos. 'Good' to her was simply 'normal.' Sure, along her travels with her father and his army, Shireen had seen a few fights, a few brawls over the last of dinner or between drunken, shouting soldiers. But the darkness that Ser Davos had said she fought, just by existing? By being herself? Shireen didn't know what he was talking about.

Until she hugged her father and heard him mutter ' _Forgive me'_ into her ear, like it were his dying breath.

Stannis could be a bit dramatic at times. Overall he had a clear head; Shireen had rarely seen him lose his temper or become violent with anyone. But there was somthing about his voice when he'd spoken to her just then, some heaviness it carried that made her stomach twist unpleasantly. Shireen drew back from the hug and stared at him curiously.

"Father?" Her voice was normally a bit soft; now it hardened slightly, in both concern and dread. "Is something wrong?"

He stood up. He didn't seem to want to look at her, which made Shireen even more uneasy. Stannis simply stepped towards the entrance of his daughter's tent and motioned for her to follow. Frowning, Shireen stood as well and obeyed. And Stannis wasn't looking when she slipped the small wooden stag figurine Ser Davos had given her into the pockets of her dress. Its horns caught awkwardly along the pocket's hem; she had to jostle it a bit to get it to slide all the way inside.

It was cold outside. It was _always_ cold lately; this chill seemed a bit deeper today, though. Shireen drew back the cloth door to her tent and faced the wind and snow. She probably should've put on her jacket, but her father seemed rather insistent and she didn't want to keep him waiting. His steps were long, even, and purposeful as he strode through the ranks of his men, who for whatever reason were all lined up in a haphazard formation in the middle of camp. Shireen glanced at them curiously, and sent a smile to some of the ones she knew a little bit from her father's meetings. She received only icy frowns in return. Maybe they were just in a bad mood?

This had distracted her for a moment; in just these brief seconds, Stannis had disappeared from her line of sight and had faded into the crowd. A few soldiers beside her kept walking forward, and so did she, although she craned her head around and stood on her tiptoes to try and get a glimpse of her father. Shireen had no such luck.

What she _did_ see, though, was a wooden log platform a few yards ahead that most definitely had not been there a day earlier. It was a couple feet high, and had one much taller branch sticking straight up from its center, towards the dingy grey sky. There were several soldiers standing around this, too. None of them looked very happy, either.

Shireen's steps slowed. That uneasy churning of her stomach doubled, because this contraption looked like some sort of sacrificial pyre she'd seen in her books before, when certain people had been tortured or offered to the gods to gain their favor.

But that… couldn't be right. Could it?

There was the sound crunching snow just to her right. And the Red Woman appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, her pointed chin craned high, her hands clasped elegantly at her hips as the rest of her dark crimson dress billowed behind her like blood coating the snow.

Shireen had never liked her. She'd never truly been _afraid_ of her, though. All of that changed right now, when the woman's hard eyes flicked from Shireen's marred face to the platform and back again.

"Where is my father?" Shireen demanded at once, attempting futilely to steady her wavering voice. "I want to see my father."

"Don't worry, Princess," the Red Woman intoned silkily. And with a smile that made Shireen's heart flail. "It will all be over soon."

What? _What?_

That sinking fear boiled over. Shireen shook her head and started to turn around, completely intent on heading for the safety of her tent. A pair of hands took each of her arms and dragged her backwards anyway. She shouted her disagreement and kicked her feet in a frenzy, demanding to see Stannis, for her father to put a stop to all this madness. Her heels clunked against the edge of the platform as she was lifted up and shoved against that standing log, where her hands were promptly yanked behind her and forced together, around the log.

"You _can't_ do this," Shireen screeched, tugging uselessly against the soldiers binding her wrists with thick, scratchy rope. "Father, where are you?!"

Shireen never did cry much; furious tears now streamed down her face as she grimaced and kicked at the soldiers now tying that same rope around her waist. _No,_ she said, and thought simultaneously. _You can't do this! Let go! Please!_ Were these people insane? How could all these men just stand around and watch-

"Hear us now, my Lord," the Red Woman began ceremoniously, turning her gaze to the torch ready and waiting just beside her. "We offer you this girl-"

"Please! Let me _go-"_

"-so that you may cleanse her with your fire-"

"Father, _make them stop!"_

"-and that its light may lead our way."

Everyone was just watching- Shireen glanced frantically at any and all of them, begging with both her gaze and her voice. Her father couldn't possibly want this; he'd clearly been tricked, or drugged, or knocked unconscious-

Then she saw him, just off to the side. Standing beside her mother. Who, just like Stannis, was merely _watching._

She begged them, screaming, tearing at her restraints. The Red Woman began incanting for the Lord of Light's favor once more; Shireen heard none of it. She could only hear the crackling flames of the torch that the Woman now held in one hand, and the silence of her mother and father as they looked at her through the falling snow.

...But then there was something else.

It came from behind Shireen, in between murmurs and shouts of alarm. The ground was shaking a little, vibrating up the log she had been strapped to. Somewhere close by, a horse brayed; the Red Woman's steadfast, almost smug expression now shattered into shock, and she dropped her torch.

Soldiers gaped, dim-witted; Stannis and his wife did, too. And Shireen felt something tug at her wrists; it took a gloved hand clamping around one of them and pulling her back to make her realize she'd been freed. Shouts strengthened and echoed through the air. The world spun; the wind started to freeze the tears on her cheeks as she was launched onto the back of a horse beside a person in a thick, brown and red cloak. Out of pure instinct, Shireen threw her arms forward and gripped the person's waist, or else fall off the back of the horse that had now begun to gallop away at a blinding, seemingly impossible speed.

Shireen pried open one eye and dared to look beside her; more mounted horses sped alongside her own. Not an army's worth, but a horde, and each rider donned the same type of hooded cloak, with the same sigil on their flailing capes. In the chaos, Shireen noticed only that it looked entirely unfamiliar, and not at all like any of the known houses she'd ever seen.

She wanted to look back. She wanted to see if her father's forces - or her father himself - had chased after her, but it was futile. The snow had come down hard, undoubtedly blocking all view. A fresh horror seeped into Shireen's chest - although truly, if she had to choose, being stolen away by strangers was preferable to burning alive.

"Are you alright, Princess?" a voice said from somewhere; presumably, that of the rider that Shireen was currently grabbing onto.

The voice was a bit raspy, and tinged with steel. It was female. Shireen looked up slightly, to see one emerald-green eye peering back at her; the rest of the figure's face was cloaked in thick, warm cloth.

"I-I think so," Shireen managed.

"Good," the voice said. "Hold on and stay warm. We have a ways to go."

The horse's strides jarred Shireen's chattering teeth; the wind whipped her hair.

She _really_ should've worn her jacket.

* * *

A/N:

Hello! The mysterious riders are an original creation, and will be explained in time. I hope you enjoyed reading! Shireen was such a great character; I can't wait to give her the spotlight she deserved.

Jorah will be back next chapter! Stick around ;)


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